Author's Note: This week I'll be releasing two short chapters, as a bonus for my awesome readers. Thank you guys for sticking with my story!
Also, I'm looking for a few people to give me regular feedback on my chapters before I release them. It would be really helpful to have another pair of eyes on these. PM me for details, if you're interested.
Aboard the Pursuer, 2.13 AVY:
"What is your name?" one of them asked, the words translated into Low Gothic by some sort of automaton.
"Marisa Tsevic," she replied.
The automaton parroted her in another language. It was a fully artificial being, made from shining silver, its limbs segmented and its face dominated by enormous chrome bug-eyes. The closest thing she could relate it to was a servitor.
"Homeworld?"
"Mortias IV." The other officer nodded and took notes on a data-slate.
She sat in a small windowless cell, with a table and three chairs. There was a bucket in the corner, changed regularly, and meals were brought to her, bland packaged carbohydrates that nevertheless tasted much better than the hive fare she was used to. She was dressed in nondescript grey fatigues, her armor having been long ago confiscated.
"Occupation?"
"Enforcer."
"Describe the"—the automaton, standing beside the seated officers, slipped into gibberish for a bit; evidently the translation remained imperfect—"and culture of your"—more gibberish.
She shook her head. "What?"
They talked among themselves. She'd never heard anything like their language. She had never seen their uniforms before, either—they wore sleek grey tunics, with colored plaques on the breast, and they had streamlined caps with visors that bent over the forehead. It was a subdued style, not at all like the ostentation common among the officials and priests of the Imperium. Where were these people from? They looked human, but they could not be Imperial.
"Tell us about the deity you worship."
"Surely you already know."
One of the officers glared at her from beneath his visor. "Cooperate, please."
"The Emperor protects. He is the light and the truth, the guardian of us all, our savior from the forces of darkness." She paused, gave a glare of her own. "I demand to be returned to my home planet."
"Do you know where you are?"
"Some sort of spaceship. I saw it from the outside, in the shuttle. It's small."
"You are now 170 light-years away from your homeworld."
She just stared at them, uncomprehending. Marisa had never left the hive city, let alone the planet. Her world had been small, squalid, and quite normal up until a few days ago, when her squad had heard shooting near Substation Generator 33A, and she'd gone to investigate…
"You mean—?"
"You will never return to Mortias IV. You are now a prisoner of the Galactic Empire, and you will die in captivity." Abruptly, the officers stood. "We have done our job—our translation algorithm seems to work well enough. The major will be in to see you shortly."
They left, leaving the automaton to stand mutely opposite her. As the door opened she caught a glimpse of an armed guard, fully enclosed in rounded black and white armor, with a helmet that seemed molded into a perpetual frown. Was he human, too, or another robot? She couldn't tell.
Then the door shut again and she was alone, left with nothing but fear to pass the long hours. At least they hadn't manacled her to the chair. She was free to walk around the room, all ten square meters of it. The ship hummed around her, though it was much quieter than the hive city's ambience of groaning metal and rumbling machinery, and the air was fresh, without the familiar reek of sweat, promethium fumes, and human excrement.
Surrendering had been a mistake. She should have fought to her last dying breath, like the brave fighters of the Arbites or the Guard. Had she done so, she would be with the Emperor at this very moment, welcomed into the host of the righteous at His side. Now… perhaps the Emperor would forgive her for her cowardice, but it might be a long time until she received the mercy of death.
Where would they start? Removing her teeth? Her fingernails? Or were these strangers' methods more subtle, using isolation and fear to press her mind until it finally cracked? They were certainly heretics—they knew not the name of the God-Emperor—so she could expect no mercy.
Marisa paced around the table and chairs in the center of the room. The automaton stood there, unmoving and unblinking, her only companion.
"What are you?" she asked. "Some sort of abominable intellect?"
No response.
"You are cursed in the Emperor's sight, whatever you are."
She punched it. Her hand connected with cold metal, painfully, and the robot staggered, reacting just enough to keep from falling over. She was happy to see that there was a slight dent in its face.
"Behave yourself," the automaton said, as she turned away. It caught her by surprise, causing her to jump a little, and she spun back around to deliver a second punch. This time she knocked it to the floor. She raised a foot to stomp down and crush its metal head, but before she attempted the killing blow, the door opened.
The man who walked in was the same one who had captured her. He was tall, with a sharp jawline and a growth of stubble on his face, and he wore a jet-black uniform, a double-breasted tunic with trousers that flared at the hip. When he spoke, the robot translated.
"Destroying Imperial property will not endear you to your captors," he said, flashing a disarming smile. "And trust me, you do very much want to be in our good graces. Your stay doesn't have to be this comfortable."
"Who in the Emperor's name are you people?"
"Visitors. Liberators, as I'm sure you will come to see. My name is Major Fren Tykon, Imperial Intelligence, and I'm in command of this little expedition. Sit down."
She sat. Tykon helped the automaton to its feet, then took a seat as well. He folded his arms and leaned forward over the table.
"To begin, Marisa, I'd like to—"
"How does your robot speak my language?" she asked.
Tykon looked askance at her, surprised she'd interrupted. He smirked. "We had a computer analyze transmissions from your planet. The men who saw you previously were linguists testing the model. It's imperfect, but it seems to work."
"Then what do you need me for? Nothing you can learn from me that you can't learn from a broadcast, if you've been eavesdropping on our communications."
"Ah. You're wrong about that. Most of what your planet puts out is propaganda—'Praise the Emperor' this, 'Purge the heretics' that—and I want another perspective."
"Then you've got the wrong person. I am a loyal believer in the Emperor, and you will not hear a whisper of heresy from my lips."
"Hm." He steepled his fingers, looked at her for a long second. "You know, we have an Emperor, too."
She scoffed. What madness was this? There could be only one Emperor, and that was Him.
"Your Emperor is false."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. If I understand correctly, your Emperor is immobile on your capital world—what's its name? Teran? Trantor?—"
"Terra."
"—and he has not moved or spoken in some time. How long, would you say?"
"It's been ten thousand years since He defeated the arch-traitor, Horus, and ascended to rule from the Golden Throne."
Tykon nodded. "Fascinating. A whole mythology, of which we're just barely beginning to scratch the surface. Please, tell me more."
"You're really not from around here, are you?"
"You'll soon see for yourself. We are nearing the recall point, and will be transiting in a few days."
"What does that mean?"
"That you will be a pioneer. The first person from your galaxy to travel to ours. Some of us wonder if you will survive the transition, but I'm sure you will—we made it over to your galaxy just fine."
A chill ran through her.
"You're from outside the Milky Way?"
"'The Milky Way?' That's a silly name. But yes, we are, and you will be seeing much more of us in the years ahead, as we civilize your backwards Imperium. Which is why we need to find out all we can from you. I suggest you cooperate, or we will begin to use harsher methods." He leaned towards her again. "Your first task: tell me everything you know about the Imperium's military forces."
This was Marisa's chance. She had failed to die for the Emperor, back in the hive, but now she could become a true martyr. Suffering purified the soul. Once the torture was over, she would be hailed as a hero before the Golden Throne, and receive her eternal reward with a smile on her face.
"No."
Tykon smiled. "That's what I expected."
He raised a hand—was that a signal?—and the door behind him opened. Two white-armored figures entered, like the one she'd seen before. They were across the room in seconds, and though she fought, they quickly had her pinned against the wall, unable to move.
"The Emperor protects!" she shouted.
"I'm sure he does." Tykon stood and paced a meter in front of her, then called over his shoulder, "Bring it in."
The next thing through the doorway was another automaton. It was a black sphere, floating about a meter and a half off the ground, with a glowing red eye inset near the bottom and various silvery implements protruding around the upper half. A syringe jutted from its side, and it hummed like a servo skull.
For the briefest of moments she considered spilling what little she knew. But then she imagined the Emperor watching her, from high upon the Golden Throne of Terra, and resolved to embrace the pain to come.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for Chapter 5, in which we will be seeing more of Krennic.
